Netherealm
by Sorceress Ink
Summary: An ancient, archaic crusade reaches fever pitch in modern-day times... and now, the fanged ones are losing. In the words of an unnamed vampire: "The world was so much simpler when all the humans weren't trying to kill us dead." Original story.
1. Chapter 1

_**Netherealm**_

_Chapter One: Enter_

I sprinted through the woods, ducking under ashen limbs gone dormant for the winter-so that I didn't break my neck. Wind ran through the trees as the shadows seemed to laugh. If you could describe a night as wild, this was it. The sky was dark grey and angry; night was coming fast, and with it a storm. My arm burned like it had been touched by a white-hot rod-I must have brush burned it very badly when I escaped the dungeon. Torches glowed in the distance: I was nearing another village. Great. Escape was near.

I tripped and stumbled-a stupid mistake. That gave the hunters time to catch up to me. Why would they never leave me alone? And how in the name of Maghelda the Elder did they run so fast? You'd think, what with being on my case twenty four hours a day seven days a week (or so it seemed to me) they'd eventually drop dead of exhaustion. Or go into a coma. Or hibernation, _Something._

_"This way!" _someone called. "The beast went this way!" _Oh, so I'm "the beast" now?_ I thought ironically to myself. _That's definitely an upgrade. Last week I was "the gargoyle" and last month I was "Beelzebub incarnate in female form". I didn't know Beelzebub _had_ a female form._ Despite my mental comments on the situation, I'll admit it: I. Was. Scared. It's only a natural reaction when about ten experienced hunters, two novices, and a mob of angry villagers all want you dead. Or... well quite honestly, anything but what you are.

And what am I? I am descendant of the creatures that most humans think only exist on the imagination of Bram Stoker, Darren Shan, and in the image of Bela Lugosi. I am a shadow-dweller, night's child, a dark one. I am the scorner of the Twilight books! (No, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I am. I just don't like those books. If Stephanie Meyer was in front of me I'd probably slap her.) All joking aside: I am a.... now fill in the blank. Let me give you a tip: the common term begins with a _V...._

"Vampire!" someone shrieked as I ran by them. _How can they tell?! I look like any other teenaged hooligan running from a mob! Do I have it tattooed on my fore-_I looked down at my bare arm. A fresh, giant, ugly "V" was branded there, in white and red flesh, like I was some kind of fanged cattle. Anger was the only emotion I could process as I ran through the village. Some dove in fear into their huts' others ran for their swords, torches, or pitchforks. Luckily by the time they got there, I was already gone. _A burn. A burn. They _branded _me. They burned the letter V into my forearm in event of escape. _I'd never heard of this happening before. I had to give it to whoever came up with this: Burns are the one type of wound that I can never naturally heal. These humans were getting clever. Far too clever.

I stumbled again-half an hour of hard running can disorient you, especially when you are naturally a klutz. Luckily I was close enough to the edge of the cliff that it didn't matter anymore. I allowed the villagers to come close to me, so close I could lean out and touch a pitchfork if I felt so inclined. (Which I didn't.) I took a step towards the edge. About two hundred feet below me, I knew, was a slope with harsh turf and large, rough edged rocks. Well, more like monoliths, really. No human could survive such a fall. If they did not die on impact, they'd roll down the slope and slam into multiple monoliths at high speed, killing them painfully.

I, however...

"I tell you, I'm not a vampire!" I yelled, stepping towards the edge. _Careful, now... it has to be just right..._

"There's no hope fer it, wench," snarled one of the villagers, a grimy redhead. "Me boy Damien saw ye with blood on yer teeth las' night. It's the stake fer you!"

"That's impossible!" I screamed. _I hunted the night before that!_ "Your boy's mistaken! I swear!" _Am I laying it on too thin? Better do a dose of the puppy eyes...Wait, that's right. My puppy eyes don't exist I'll stick with the pleading._ I was on the edge of the cliff now... one more step and I'd have this lot off my back.

"Run 'er through!" shrieked a blonde, wide-eyed woman-probably a Norse immigrant. "Run 'er through, John!"

"It won't kill ye, but it'll hurt," chuckled a brown-haired boy barely my age. I yelled as the pitchfork, rusty and dull, came forth-and it barely touched me. I stepped-or was pushed-off the cliff. A gasp shuddered through the people... and I impacted hard with the ground."Lord ha' mercy!" shrieked someone above me. Pain, agony, slammed through my body. My spine must've broken, because I heard a sickening snap and could no longer move. I rolled for a while, feeling a sharp pain at several places in my skull, then came to a sharp halt against a monolith. My arm ached like hell. My back to the people, I shut my eyes against the brute agony my stupid nervous system was putting me through. I might have been dead.

Yet, I had shallow, light breathing-so faint that even if someone held a mirror to my lips, there would be no fog. I had a pulse so faint that no medieval doctor could detect it-yes, this is possible. First of all, otherwise catalepsy wouldn't be such a big problem. Second of all... those witch doctors are bumbling fools.

I was alive. And the pain was beginning to dull to an ache, like my entire body was a bruise that was healing itself.

"Ah, mannie," someone whispered. "Lads, I think that really mighta been a lass."

"An may'ap we ought ter go down there?"

"Ach no," someone mumbled. "Wait'll the hunters get here. It migh' be a trick on the creature's part."

"Not very likely. She looks like a proper Highland lass teh me. But fer caution's sake, 'tis a good idea," someone agreed. "Meantime, let us ge' away from here, in case the lass's ghost decides to take some revenge on Damien 'ere."

"But-but..." someone who must have been Damien protested angrily.

"Ye were at the poteen, laddie. Ye saw things. We all know how it goes. Come on then, come now." A great stomping of feet commenced. Obviously they had left.

It wasn't safe to move yet. My spine was not fully healed. I could feel it. I waited there another minute, then sat up and looked around me. No one. Nothing. Good.

I got up, stretched, and stalked towards the forest. Another plot thwarted. Another scheme pulled off successfully. And all this for a little blood? I hadn't even killed my victim. We hardly ever do, you know. I certainly haven't. Granted, there are those who go batty and completely decimate entire populations. I am _not, not not _(do you see the NOT?!) one of them. Nor are any of those that I know. Heck, most of the time my "victims" are asleep and/or zoned out and they'll think a mosquito bit them.

Oh, I should mention: vampires aren't the only creatures of your nightmares running around. Let me name a few others:

I. Werewolves, you might know them as lycans.

II. Pixies. Why do I call them creatures of your nightmares? Because... those little devils.. are... _evil...._

III. Ever heard of ghosts? Yes, well... they're real too.

This world is not for the faint of heart, I'm afraid.

Which world is this, you ask?

Yours.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: Running_

Look, I know I owe you a lot of explanation. Let me give you my best shot:

**Ground Rules for Fanged Species:**

We can live as loners if we want to; however, most of us pay allegiance to groups called "clans". If I attempted to name them all my head would explode. Suffice it to say the alliances connecting them are ancient and very complicated. Occasionally one rogue clan or another will break into war with everyone else, but disagreements usually settle themselves.

_No one _(but a fellow clan member) insults your clanmates. _No one._

Typically one Elder presides over the clan. They make most major decisions in battle, and sometimes they'll perform ceremonies.

Nobody, but nobody, insults an Elder. I don't care if everyone else thinks you're God: you insult an Elder, you are going down.

Females and males are viewed equally, and have been since we first existed-mainly because both genders are equally strong. And if some male out there protests, I'd like you to come up here right now so I can teach you a thing or two about pain.

Lycans and werewolves are neither natural allies nor natural enemies. Get that through your thick skull right now.

**Weaknesses and Quirks-the REAL Version:**

No, running water does not hurt us.

Neither do holy water, crucifixes, or garlic. Common but foolish myth.

Daylight: we can withstand it for short whiles, but it hurts like hell. Stay too long in it and your skin will be burned beyond recovery.

Burns (fire-inflicted wounds) are the only type of wound we won't recover from. You can try cutting our heads off/stabbing us through the heart... but we'll just reform. And then, my mortal little friends, you will be in deep trouble.

A great deal of us aren't very good at self-control. I am one of them. Just in case: If you are bleeding, stay the hell away from us.

Silver bullets? No.

Stake through the heart? Not either.

**Banishing Myths:**

A great deal of us aren't very good at self-control. I am one of them. Just in case: If you are bleeding, stay the hell away from us.

If one of us bites a non-vampire, they will not turn into a vampire. That requires a long and very tedious ceremony. Aside from that: most of us are born, not turned.

Again (I cannot stress this enough) _we do not kill our "victims"._

We are not mindless sex symbols, alright? Unnaturally colored eyes and faces contorted in unnatural rage tend to be a turnoff for most people.

Nor are we naturally beautiful. Most of us are average-looking, just like everyone else.

Lycans and werewolves are neither natural allies nor natural enemies. Get that through your thick skull right now.

Alright. Now that I have established rules, weaknesses, and banished myths, I now may return to my tale.

I had recently escaped from a medieval dungeon. The year was... I can't remember, but it was something with a "3". 1653? 1523? 1473?... The years tend to blend together after a time. Any matter, at that time I was living in my home village, in what you know as County Cork, Ireland. Two hundred years after that time, after the great Purging, I decided it wasn't safe in the home country anymore. I emigrated, with half my clan, to America.

But even here, even now, it's not safe.

To understand what I mean by "the great Purging" and why it still sends chills down my spine after all these centuries, let me show you a memory of mine-of what it was... and why it's come back.

* * *

_My clan is in an uproar. I am not even 200 years old, about twenty years after the cliff incident. In another 1100 years, I will be a full-fledged vampire. In two months, I'll get my first sword-a birthday I await eagerly. But this is so far off now. Now, I am just a fanged child with a V burnt into my arm. No one bothers to tell me or those my age anything. My parents push me into our cave and warn me daylight is coming._

_"Mum, summat's wrong, why won't ye tell-"_

_"Stella, lass, get ye into the cave!" My mother's silvery brown eyes have a terrible fear written in them._

_"Listen t' yer mum, lassie," my father tells me. In his eyes, so black that they are pupiless, I see written a need to protect me from something I do not understand. I do not argue any more. My heart is beating swiftly. I obey._

_I stare around the cave, waiting for my parents to join me. Other fanged children, some not even of my clan, stumble into the cave as time speeds on. Then, wolf cubs stumble into the cave, wolf cubs with human eyes. I hear noises outside: growling, arguing. The younger wolf cubs begin looking less like wolves, and more like sobbing children. This starts the vampires crying, which starts we older children trying to soothe them. Soon, my father runs in with a man, a big man with scars on his arm. "Go further in, ye lot! Go further in!"_

_"Da, what's goin' on!" I demand. He says nothing but "Further in, lass-and don't ye lot dare come out till one of us comes get ye!"_

_"Da-" He draws a sword from his belt-much smaller than the one he uses. It looks to be some sort of claymore, but the hilt is cross-shaped. I step back, staring at the sharp, shiny metal. I know that I am not allowed to pick up, touch, or think about touching swords for another two months. But my father thrusts the weapon into my hands. "An' if someone ye don't know comes in, use this."_

_I barely know how to play-fight with sticks. I take it anyway-most of the children my age in the cave have their own weapons. Even the wolves. My father again urges us further into the cave. A blonde female takes the way. I help usher the younger children through the caves. We travel on for about five minutes._

_Then we hear a scream. An unearthly shriek. An eerie, out-of-this world scream that rips my world in two. The young ones begin shrieking. The older ones are silent. Eerily silent. I clutch my new sword fiercely, hoping, praying whoever screamed was not someone from my clan._

_Then, a human battle-cry: "DEATH TO THE DEMONS!" The clash of metal on metal. The screams. Some sort of ugly sizzling sound. Every child falls silent, fear now binding their mouths shut. I cannot move; I cannot think. All I can see is a torch being set to the flesh of vampires from my clan. The scent of blood creeps into the air-lycan, vampiric... and human. We breathe raggedly like we are the ones fighting. The lycans are fighting the urge to transform. We vampires are fighting the urge to go outside and launch ourselves onto the nearest meal. The awful, terrible noises seems to go on for hours, or only minutes. Then, slowly, gradually, they slow. They grow quiet. And finally, they stop. I hear footsteps in the cave and get up, heart beating like a rabbit's. I am scared and hungry. So scared. So hungry. Fear paints the face of everyone in the cave to a pale white. However, the ones who have weapons get in front of the ones who don't._

_A woman with a hairy face, pale and breathing harshly, comes into view after a few minutes. "Come," she whispers in a husky voice. "We mus' leave. Now. Afore they come back."_

_Wordlessly, we obey. Thoughts race around my head like mice in the walls of an old house. I hold my sword, its cold metal feeling awkward in my young hands._

_Once we are out of the cave the odor is so much stronger. Ashes whip in the breeze. It is dark again-we stayed in there an entire day. Skeletonized remains, bones charred as if by fire, lie on the ground. Wolves, scarlet on their teeth, lie motionless on the ground. I held back a shriek as burnt, charred creatures walk towards us. One enfolds me in their arms. Most of his-or her-flesh looks extremely raw. Their clothing has holes burnt in it. I hear them cursing of pain as flesh collides with burnt skin. They hug me anyway. I look up and see compassionate, pained pitch-black staring at me._

_Those eyes, I'd recognize anywhere. It is my father._

_I hug him tightly and sob._

* * *

The great Purge was the massacre of hundreds of lycans, vampires, and other magical beings by humans known as "hunters". Hunters live to destroy magical lives. They view us as archaic evil creatures. They view us as filthy creatures without souls. There's supposedly this fake prophecy out there that fortells a perfect utopian world. A world without pain, without fear, without anxiety. Without plague or poverty. It is a world without magic. (Forgive me for the French, but that's batshit crazy.) They started up this crusade about five hundred years ago. They'd ride through forests and destroy whole villages of magical beings.

Over half my clan died in that battle with the hunters. We were lucky.

My mother escaped relatively unscathed. My father did not. My parents would both survive for another two hundred years. My father never completely recovered from the burns, and died in June of 1903 of complications. My mother died in 1990 at the ripe old age of one thousand thirtysomething. (I suspect she dropped a few centuries between 1880 and 1920.) She never even thought about remarrying. I live with my "grandmother", Gigi. (Technically she's my great-grandmother but we call her something else in front of the truant officer.) And you ask, "How exactly is any of this relevant?!"

Good question. I'd just thought you'd like to have a little background information before I explain that you, human or not, are in grave peril.

Another Purge is beginning.

And its next victim, even if you are not a magical, might be you.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: Slán Agat, Peaceful Times_

I set my sketch down and frowned. Art was not a favorite subject of mine. The sketch I was supposed to do was "an interpretive self-portrait". In other words it could be a drawing of anything we wished, it just had to represent us. I had only recently graduated from sketching stick figure people, so I decided to stick with either inanimate objects or animals. On the pale paper was a nearly-finished, rather cruddy color drawing of a vividly green eye, with multicolored flecks, peering through a golden keyhole. Some might interpret this as saying I felt like an outsider peering in. Not so: I felt like someone locked inside their house, rifle clutched firmly in hand, peering out and yelling "Who goes there?!". Things had been happening around my neighborhood. //_And_ _by "things," I mean the recent murder of a human Rowen fed off of....// _The hunters were in America. There was no other explanation. A human had been found, deliberately drowned, in the lake at the local park. As there was a weight tied to his ankle it was suspected that this was a suicide. But the half-healed puncture marks on his neck told the magical community otherwise. Rowen was a mess-he'd fed off the sleeping homeless man two weeks ago, and was worried the man's death was partially-if not completely-his fault. I had been trying to persuade him it wasn't. It was the fault of the hunters.

The hunters were in America. When they'd gotten here, why they were becoming active now, and whether or not they were planning to reveal themselves to the greater public, no one knew. And they'd decided that those who vampires had fed off of were also "impure" (tainted by our fangs), and had to be destroyed as well. Anyone with a puncture mark, or odd mark anywhere near a major vein, (roughly a fifteenth of the people in our town) was fair game for the hunters-even though over half of them were marks from the mosquitoes that had plagued us until late in October. I was deliberately avoiding drinking from people native to our town. I didn't want any murders on my hands.

Rowen is a slightly happier topic: a male vampire from the Blackwater clan. Blackwater had emigrated to America, along with my clan, Bloodletter, Coldskin, and some of the Nightwalker clan. He and I met about ten years ago in school and had stuck together like glue since. And no, we are not "going out". I have no desire for any kind of relationship. Never had, probably never would. Especially not when the entire world was crumbling at the foundation.

I sighed and decided my interpretive self-portrait was good enough. I could hear the sounds of "The Addams Family Reunion" coming from downstairs: Mamo was at it again. She enjoys watching old TV shows and movies, but movies about older topics (i.e. the Tudor family) are her main vice-she says it's really amusing to see how wrong they get the good ol' days. Mamo would know... (Her first Christmas _was_ the first Christmas. Her first birthday was celebrated way before most people knew what dirt was. I am not even joking.) I got up, opened the door to the stairway that led beneath the house, and called down, "Mamo!"

"Yes, leannán?" I smiled. We'd worked hard not to use our Irish vocabularies among other people (sticking out is never good when most people believe you don't exist. But Mamo retained a slight County Cork drawl. And in both public and private, her pet name for me remained "leannán"-"sweetheart" in Irish. (She used to call me an English pet name. However, I forbade "ducky" after I got old enough to realize I did not have webbed feet and feathers.)

"It's dark out-I'm going over to Sky's now. Anything you want me to do before I leave?" I didn't mention that on the way to my lycan friend's home, I would probably make sure Rowen hadn't done anything stupid.

The TV was muted. An uneasy silence settled from downstairs. After a pause, my grandmother appeared at the feet of the stairs. Long, wispy white hair was pulled back from her face by a fuzzy black hair band. Milky blue eyes surveyed me warily from a pale, ancient-looking face. My grandmother had aged well. One could almost forget the fact that she was supposed to be recovering from a broken leg. It had broken two months ago when she tripped down the stairs at the town library. Of course, it healed within minutes after we'd gotten it x-rayed at the hospital. It'd be another four months until she could walk-or so we had been forced to tell our human acquaintances. So she was stuck in the house, unable to drive or walk me over to Sky's as I know she would have liked to.

"Stella," she finally said, "be careful. And I'd mightily appreciate it if you'd take that charm off." I looked down: my clan sign, a silver dagger blade with bat wings instead of a cruciform hilt, was wrought in metal and hung from my neck on a leather strap. My favorite gemstone, an amethyst, was set in the hilt. I quickly took it off and stuffed it into my jeans pocket. Mamo's face still had worry etched in every crease.

I grimaced. Not wanting her to worry about me for the entire weekend, I tried to put her at ease: "Mamo, no one suspects us of being anything other than humans."

"Ye wouldn't know that unless ye asked the hunters yerself, now wouldja?" Mamo sighed. Her accent was coming out strongly, as it always did when she was upset. "Look, all I'm askin' fer is that yer careful. Alright, Stel?"

I nodded seriously.

"Matter o' fact, perhaps I should get Alastor to walk ye over-" //_Oh, no. There is no way I am walking _anywhere _with that slimy git.//_ Alastor was my grandmother's rather creepy gentleman friend. He had no fangs, but had hinted at having some magical connection. He always surveyed myself and my friends with a strange, almost wild gaze. I wasn't sure what he was, all I knew was I didn't like him. My grandmother didn't understand my aversion to him, nor would she tell me what exactly he was. That only made me more paranoid with all matters Alastorian.

"Mamo, I'll be fine. I swear-and you know that I know what to do if anyone, hunter or not, walks up to me." _//Scream. If no one's around, kick where the sun don't shine and run. If the attacker is female, punch them in the face, which may or may not break a facial bone, and run.//_ Having unnatural strength gives you a confidence that no amount of tae-kwan-doe/kickboxing/karate/self-defense classes can instill in you. "I promise I'll be careful-and Sky's house is two blocks away. Five minutes tops."

"Alright, alright. I won't send Alastor out. Just be careful, lass!"

I walked down the stairs and hugged her. "Always, Mamo." I could feel anxious eyes on my back as I climbed up the stairs, grabbed my black duffle bag, and proceeded out the door.

" Slán leat, leannán!" she called up the stairs after me.(Good-bye, sweetheart!)

" Slán agat, Mamo!" I replied as I shut the door behind me. (Goodbye, Granny!)

I proceeded down the street, but instead of going straight as usual when I went to Sky's, I turned when the road forked. Three houses down was an ambiguous, pleasant-looking house. A wreath of leaves hung on the door. Grinning jack-o-lanterns sat on the stoop. If only the person inside it was as happy as the house itself was. I glanced over at the driveway connected to the house: no car. I smiled, relief and serenity spreading through my brain. _//He's actually out of the house. So he's getting over it. And here I was worrying he'd lost it. Fantastic.// _ I made a mental note to tell Mamo the good news when I got home. She'd been worried about Rowen. I walked back to the fork of the roads and, this time, I took the straight path. Trees began to appear as I walked further and further on. In another five minutes, I reached a white house with a tar-black shingle roof. A large area of the facade of the house was obscured by the trees. The Bladesons didn't spend much on landscaping for that purpose-nature did it for them.

I made my way past the tree line and up the walk. I knocked on the door-the doorbell didn't work. I waited five seconds, then heard footsteps hammering down the stairs. The curtains at a window parted a crack, then closed. A few seconds later. the door opened to let me in. I stepped inside.

A half-animal greeted me at the door. Feral eyes glittered from an otherwise humanoid face. Teeth that were more canine than human, hands with doodles on them and fingernails that were more like claws, and the fact that she smelled distinctly of bacon... yes, this was Sky.

"Hey, Stella."

"Hi, Sky." I looked my friend up and down. "Answering the door as a half-wolf might not be the best idea."

Sky raised her eyebrows. "One: I looked out the window first. Two: No one but you comes over here. Three: Stella, you have pupiless white eyes, giant fangs, and sharpened incisors, and were walking through town. You might as well tattoo 'I BITE' across your forehead in capital letters."

I chuckled and sat on the couch. "Yeah, but that's too subtle." Sky rolled her eyes. I chuckled again, amused at her exasperation. Then, I noted the house seemed empty. Mr. and Mrs. Bladeson weren't home. "Where's your parents?"

"Getting dinner. We kind of ran out of meat."

I nodded, understanding. Then, a corner of my mouth slid upwards as I remembered the empty house. "By the way, I think Rowen has recovered from his bout of depression."

Sky swallowed, hard. Then, turning from me, she seemed to freeze, so frightened of the cold reality of what she was about to say. When she finally spat it out, I felt it like a knife at my throat:

"Rowen's going into hiding. The hunters found out about him."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four: The New World Gets Old School_

I paled. The blood left my face and drained into the floor. I tried not to show the fact that the world had just turned into an even viler place than before on my face. It was as if a harsh light was glaring into my eyes and someone was calling, "Ma'am? Wake up. This is the real world." I looked at Sky. "No. That's impossible. Rowen couldn't be so careless."

"Yeah, well, it's happening," Sky replied to me."And he wasn't careless. He was, well... hungry. So he went out a day ago at about eleven o' clock. Past curfew for minors, you know. Of course, he's, what, eleven hundred and three-"

"Twelve hundred and six. My age-ish." _//Oh my _God._ Could I sound more juvenile if I even tried?//_

Sky sighed. "Yeah, sorry. Anyway, he really didn't think about the curfew, and he went up to a sleeping homeless person. And that is when the police cars pulled into the park." I moaned. _//Rowen and his morals. Look where _they_ got him...//_ "He still had blood on his fangs, and apparently human blood is hard to get off?"

"Extremely," I whispered. "It eventually can stain your teeth if you're not careful."

"Right. So he tried to walk away nonchalantly." I chuckled in spite of the situation-that sounded like Rowen. "The cop stopped him and asked him why he was out after curfew-that's when he saw his teeth. Turns out Sheriff What-The-Hell is a hunter. He wasn't wearing his fake teeth or his contacts, so he had fangs and his eyes were that weird maroon shade. Not exactly normal. Blood on his fangs was pretty much fat on the meat. The cop tried to knock Rowen out... luckily Rowen got first punch. The cop stumbled back and Rowen just started running. He was at his house and packing up before the guy got in his BMW. Then his mother called my parents to ask if they'd house-sit and explained the situation."

I groaned. _//Damn hunters. First Ireland, now the world! Willing to kill the innocent because they're "tainted". You just couldn't leave this war between you and us. And you say we're impure? How... ironic.//_

"Any idea where they could be going?"

I nodded without thinking. "Probably to the Blackwater clan's shelter. God, I wish Rowen's family was in my clan-then I could actually keep in contact with him."

Sky frowned. "You mean you know where he is, but you can't go there?"

Slightly angry, I replied, "Not unless I'm invited. I'm a Bloodletter, remember?"

"Well, it's hard to forget, it _is_ your last name-"

"Precisely." _//Well, at least those hunters are _dense._ My last name practically screams "vampire" and they don't even scope out my house. That is kind of pitiful. What do they do all day, sit their asses on the carpet and try to color in the lines?// _"I'm from another clan. Going over to his clan shelter would be intrusion. And then I'd get Maghelda mad at me. That is not really something I want to do as long as I live. She puts the 'pain' in 'painful consequences'."

"Thank God we're loners. We don't have all these complicated relationships to worry about." Sky's face was pale and drawn in worry. I, almost subconsciously, put a hand in my pocket to withdraw my "symbol-on-a-string", as Sky liked to call it. I swung it in the air-playing with it gives me a sense of happiness and distracts me from the world around me_. //I could use that right now,// _I thought, flicking it with my fingertip. My heart thudded in time with its metallic clicks. I let my cocoa brown bangs-alright, more like a shaggy fringe of hair that had escaped the tyranny of my hair tie-from my face and tried to concentrate. _//Alright, I need to get in contact with him. And why? Because he's my best friend. Well, aside from Sky. How am I going to do that without Elder Maghelda killing me? Well, if I knew that I wouldn't be here asking myself stupid questions_._ Come on, Stel. This is the age of computers the age of the magical box, the age of cell phones, the age of TV dinners! I should be able to fig-_

_Cell phones. That's it. I'll call Rowen's cell phone. Why the hell didn't I think of that before?// _

Sky, who had been watching me wallow in my sorrows on a blue couch, sat straight up. Her keen eyes seemed to detect some glitter of hope in mine. "Stella?"

"Sky, let me use the phone!" Sky raised an eyebrow, but got up, took it from its perch on a wooden table nearbye, and tossed it to me. "Knock yourself out."

I turned it on, then pressed the speaker button. Well, what I thought was the speaker button. A mechanical male voice intoned, "If you would like to make a call-" _//Not that one.//_ I pressed another one. "Zero new messages. Five old-"

Sky sighed and took the phone from me. She pressed a button at the bottom-right corner of the slim wireless phone, and handed it back to me. "I think you wanted speaker."

I bit my lip. _//Wow. You can wield a sword, but not a wireless phone. And Mamo's old-fashioned.//_ "Yeah. Thanks." I dialed Rowen's number, 555-7134, and waited.

On the fifth ring, someone picked up. A nervous male voice answered, "Hello?"

"Rowen!" I exclaimed. That voice, I'd know anywhere-even through static and terrible reception. "That you?"

Relief seemed to seep from the phone like blood from a punctured vein. "Oh! Stella! God, you scared me."

"Hi Rowen."

Pause. "Sky?"

"Yeah, I'm on speaker." Sky grinned slightly.

"Rowen, you're okay? And your mom? Your brother?" I had no great love for Rowen's elder brother, who was rather... _selectively vile, _shall we say. He'd make a great hunter, if it weren't for the small but significant fact that all hunters were hell-bent on destroying him. However, I asked anyway.

"Yes, we're fine-are you two?"

"Yeah," Sky sighed. "Sort of."

"Except for the fact that you almost got killed, támé go maith." ...I'm doing alright. There was a pause on the end of the phone. I frowned. "Rowen?"

There was a muffled sound as if a hand had fallen over the phone. "No.... None of your business. I can talk to them if I want to!... Look-Ian, just back off!... "

The phone clattered. A bass, obnoxious male voice rasped into the phone. "Who is this?"

"Give the phone back to Rowen, Ian," Sky replied coolly. I was rather angered at his insolence. _//Who died and made him God? We can call whoever we want, and say whatever we want, as long as they don't have caller ID!// _

"I'm not sure my clan would approve of this," Ian replied suavely. I growled angrily.

"Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!" (May the cat eat you and the cat then be eaten by the devil.)

"Gurab amhlaidh duit," spat Ian. (You, too.) Sky groaned. She was Italian and thus had no idea what we were saying, but by the poisonous expression on my face, I'm sure she got the gist. "Ian, let us talk to Rowen."

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you not to call my brother again," Ian replied. "If the hunters are tapping into your phone, you could have just caused the downfall of our entire clan."

"You're paranoid," I spat. "Like J. Edgar Hoover! Why the hell would the hunters be tapping into Sky's phone? More importantly, how?" Sky slapped me on the arm. I hissed at her, then glared at the phone like it was my worst enemy. Or George Bush. Same thing. There was a sound of tussling in the background.

"Give him back the phone!" Sky demanded. Her feral eyes glinted angrily, and I winced as her hands tightened into fists.

"Thank you for calling, Sky. Good-bye, Stella."

"Burn in hell!" I spat. Then, from the background: "Rowen-Rowen, don't you dare-"

"Stella Bloodletter, I invite you and your allies to visit the Blackwater haven!" Then, "Ha! What now, bloodless?" "Bloodless" is an insult akin to "bastard" or... well, you get the idea. I couldn't help laughing. That was typical Rowen: get the best of someone, then rub it in their face. _//In a gentlemanly sort of way, of course,//_ I thought sarcastically to myself. I burst into laughter. Sky looked at me with a "why do I bother with you?" glare. Then, as I gestured helplessly, the lycan began to laugh herself.

"You little-" The connection was abruptly cut off.

However, as I inhaled to recover from my fit of laughter, I stopped and jolted. Then, I sniffed the air. Sky inhaled deeply, and looked at me with wide eyes.

Smoke.

Someone had cut the phone lines. And now, they were trying to burn us out of the house.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five: Did You Come Here To Watch Me Burn? (Heheh, Band Humour. Heheh.)_

We couldn't call 911 and get out. It was one or the other. Sky's house was mostly wood and the chances of it standing for more than ten minutes were ugly. I immediately raced to the front door; Sky, the lightning-fast one among us, was already pressing her hand against the back door's surface. I felt a scalding heat coming from the other side of the door and jerked my hand back. "Front's out of the question."

Sky looked over her shoulder, more wolf than human. "Back too. Are they setting multiple fires?"

I swallowed hard and managed a shrug. Fear was already bubbling up from my stomach into the space behind my eyes, giving me a headache and anxiety beyond belief. I thought for a split second of the pain, the awful agony of being burnt alive: first the singing of hair, then the burning of skin. For a moment, I saw myself and Sky engulfed in flames, unable to mend ourselves...I shook my head to clear the image. Sky was already racing upstairs. "We'll have to jump out a window!" I heard clearly the natural anxiety beneath her normally calm exterior. I followed her, unable to speak for fear of screaming. I ran up the stairs and followed Sky into her bedroom. She flung open a window, and looked out. "Alright, this looks safe enough. Where should we go?"

"Blackwater's haven," I yelled over the crackling of wood being burnt. "My clan's is too far away. Follow me-if they follow us, we'll take the long way there." I leaned onto the window-ledge... then forced my way onto the roof of the patio below us. I jumped off the roof and landed with a shock going through my legs. A black wolf followed me. I heard a "there they go!" from the other side of the house. The wolf-now with feral, blue human eyes, looked up at me. I fingered my clan sign, now on my neck. _Through the woods... take a left... follow the river until it comes to a fork-that's right. Good._ I took off into the deep area of the woods, feeling ancient instincts coming into play. Vampires are often victims of a semi-split personality: a normal personality, and a self-preservation instinct that takes over in battles and times of extreme stress. At these times, we become feral creatures, looking out for Number One and, if we're lucky, whoever happens to be tagging along with us. This side is what makes us creatures of such terror in the minds of humans: the thought that you have a sweet creature one minute, then a ferocious beast throwing you fifty feet away the next. I heard footsteps behind us and laughed. They were slow. Too slow. And this was night, in which Sky and I could see and they were completely blind without the aid of light, a terribly fickle element. I spotted a small stream, almost covered by leaves, and turned abruptly, beginning to follow it. Footsteps began fading away as Sky howled and followed. Shortly after-we're rather good runners in our "psycho state", and well, wolves are wolves-we found the fork and veered right. In about five minutes, we came to a large outcropping of rock. A seemingly solid outcropping. However, there was a small crack down the middle that-at least to me-gave the game away. I paused and banged a fist on the side of the rock. "Open up! I, Stella Bloodletter, and my companion Nisha of the lycan race, were given permission to enter this dwelling by Rowen Darksoul of Blackwater."

Almost immediately, half the cave moved aside. After it had parted like the Red Sea, Rowen appeared from the cave. Had he been waiting for us? "Stella! Sky! Are you alright?" He looked down at the wolf. "Dare I guess?" With Rowen had come an intoxicating aroma... almost like... I shook my head. _//Of course. It's a haven. What do you think they have in there, fish and chips?//_

"Yes, that's Sky. She prefers to be known as Nisha in wolf form." It's quite common for lycans to name their wolf forms, indeed. This results in a lot of confusion among non-lycans when Lisas are known as Aymakes, Lionels are known as Urusens, and Veras are known as Lunas. I looked over my shoulder. "May we come in? A bunch of humans think that they're following us. More like bumbling ineptly through the woods."

"Certainly..." Rowen gestured for us to come in and stepped aside. Sky strutted into the cave, returning to human form in midstride. I entered. Rowen turned and banged on the rock thrice. This activated some sort of spell-or something-because the rock moved back to cover the cave opening.

"Do you ever run out of air?" Sky asked, curious.

"No," Rowen replied. "There's small openings in the sides and roof here and there. That lets plenty of air in."

"Sorry we came so quickly. Sky's house is burning down," I explained, leaning on the cave wall to catch my breath. "We didn't want to intrude, but Bloodletter's clan haven is too far away to reach by running..."

Rowen stared at me. He seemed to lose all thought for a second as he processed this news. "What-how do they know? Do your parents know?"

"No. Not yet anyway. I hope they don't come back to the house..." Sky's face showed fear for what might happen to her parents, should they come home to a flaming house being cased out by the hunters. I knew what she saw in her mind's eye: glinting silver knives and other weapons with the metal digging into her parents' flesh. I saw her anxiety, and a knot grew in my stomach.

"They might've put it out and left. Burning a house with no one in it isn't worth the publicity," I noted. Sky nodded wordlessly, turning from me. Unsure what to say, I stared about the cave, alarmed at its depth.

Sky sniffed. "Is that.."

Rowen nodded. "Blood. We have some left over, if you care for it-"

"No thanks," Sky muttered as I nodded. He gestured for us to follow him. Rowen, with myself behind him, walked a short distance and turned left, into a large, frigid room filled with goblets, glasses, cups-and strange crystals that gave off an odd glow, and an aura of chill. Rowen picked up a small wooden goblet and handed it to me. "I'm sorry-it's not really fresh from the source. Been here about three hours already."

"Beggars can't be choosers," I replied as I accepted the goblet. The enticing aroma was enough to make me want to toss it back. However, I made Mamo proud and remembered my manners. Before engulfing the contents of the goblet, I raised my glass and said "Sláinte." (Cheers.)

Sky watched me as I tossed back the contents like a hardened drinker throws back gin and tonic. For about three seconds, I completely forgot who I was and what was occurring. A metallic, tangy taste greeted me-slightly dusty, but still unbelievably satisfying. All too soon the blood had gone. I slammed the goblet down-a habit I'd learned from watching my father in bygone years. "Thanks."

Rowen nodded solemnly. "Anytime, Stella-sorry it's not much... we're being rationed here."

"Don't worry about it," I replied. My hand shook a little-tremors of the blood making its way through my system. Sky patted me on the shoulder. I looked at the other goblets of blood. "Come on, let's get out of here before I drink everything in sight." As we followed my suggestion, I glanced at Rowen, who was completely calm. I hated the fact that he had such excellent self-control. Someone could be lying in a pool of their own blood and Rowen would dial 911 without a thought of perhaps sneaking a bite... whereas if someone got a _papercut_, I was tempted to jump on them. Sorely tempted.

We exited the chilled room and continued down the "hallway"-only to have Ian accost us.

Blond, tall, and somewhat thin, his eyes a striking garnet, Ian was one of the more attractive vampires in Blackwater. Well, supposedly-I couldn't see past his obnoxiously huge ego, which seemed to take up the entire cave.

"And to _what_ do we owe the honor of this visit?" he inquired, barely keeping himself from lunging at me. Red placed a hand on my arm, but I still leaned forward angrily.

"To the fact that Sky's house, which is where I was staying, just got burnt down. Forgive me for entering your haven, but we were invited. Trust me, if I had a choice I would've gone to Bloodletter." Rowen sighed. His black hair fell in his face as he stared at the ground, trying to control himself. As you can probably deduce, Ian and Rowen had a long history of bickering. Even when I knew them ten years ago, they'd bickered like two-year olds. And it only got worse as Ian got older. Seeing as he'd been a full-fledged vampire for about eighty-six years, his head was considerably inflated. Rowen was a mere eight hundred sixty, far from maturity in the eyes of the clans. Thus, Ian could boss him around. In the outside world, it didn't get better: Ian looked at least eighteen. Rowen, like myself, Sky, and most of our peers, looked fourteen or fifteen at best. Thus, Ian could order Rowen around just as easily among humans as among vampires.

Ian snorted. "You _would_ get a house burnt down, Stella. And how are you, Sky?"

"I'd be a lot better if you just turned around and walked away," Sky replied coolly. Her shoulders were relaxed, her face calm. Only a flicker of anger in her voice and eyes betrayed her inner hate for the bullying brute. I admired her self-restraint. I wanted to punch Ian.

"My apologies for disturbing you," Ian smiled patronizingly. I grunted with disgust. _//Self restraint status: Going... going...//_

"That's alright, your face is damaging, but a few sessions with a therapist will cure us," I assured him. I suppose this could be viewed as provoking. I viewed it as cast-iron truth.

There was a frigid silence that descended upon the cave. It lingered there, until, finally, Ian pushed it aside with an angry snarl." "Well, Rowen," Ian replied coldly, "I'll leave you, Sky, and your bloodless friend alone." _//Gone.//_

I lunged at Ian. I have no great love for chauvinists, especially those who should know better. Ian, being a vampire, should know better than to insult or, for that matter, underestimate, a vampiric female. I struck him in the face with my right fist. Shocked for a moment, Ian dealt me a stunning blow to the stomach with his own fist. I doubled over as pain washed through my stomach. I could only straighten up enough to deal a hard punch to the nose.

Ian stumbled back, pain etched in his face. His nose leaned sideways. Through the thought that he had surely fractured a rib with that punch of his, I laughed. Sky grabbed me by the forearms whilst Rowen pinned Ian against a wall. I struggled against Sky until I realized that it was pretty much futile. Vampires might be inhumanly strong, but lycans aren't exactly weaklings either.

"If I let you go, will you try to kill him?" Sky asked me a few seconds after I stopped struggling. I was unable to see her face, but the fact that her nails were digging into my akin told me what she thought about the entire situation just as well as her expression.

"Probably," I admitted, breathing heavily.

Rowen stepped back from Ian and growled, "If you insult either of them again-"

"Oh, touching. He's chivalrous!" Ian snarled under his breath.

"I appreciate it, Rowen, I really do, but I can fight my own battles," I replied to Rowen's courtesy in a low tone. I glared at the garnet-eyed menace walking away from the rather strange scene. A smile somehow managed to creep onto my face. "I'd love to continue this another time, Ian... when there's no one to save you." Alright, I admit that, yes, that was probably stupid. A full-fledged versus... a not-so-full-fledged. Different clans. Different people who would be pissed off if either one lost. In modern terms, it was a public-relations nightmare. In my terms, it was somebody's funeral just begging to happen.

Ian halted, but didn't look back. I could see his fists clenching angrily. That gave me no small amount of satisfaction. "Challenge accepted." _//Someone's been playing too many videogames...// _ He then resumed stalking down the "hallway" of the cave.

Sky released me. Rowen looked at me and shook his head, speechless. "I'd say you've done stupider things... except for the small but significant fact that you haven't."

"_What_ were you thinking?" Sky hissed.

"I wasn't," I replied calmly.

"_Exactly!"_

That was when a huge "bang" erupted from the front of the cave and threw the three of us back about fifteen feet. I heard the snarling of a dog, and my first thought was "lycan". But no, three snarling German shepherds and a greyhound sniffing the cave floor were the cause. Behind them was a wild-eyed human female and a group of other humans. All carried some implement of fire. "There they are!" yelled one of them. I scrambled to my feet. Suddenly the "V" branded on my left arm seemed to burn again as Sky-or should I call her Nisha-leapt to her feet-or paws-and took my arm in her jaws. Rowen was already on his feet screaming something in Irish down the hallway. I shook my arm out of Sky's grip, grabbed Rowen by the forearm, and jerked him down the hall. I flashed back to five or six hundred years earlier, seeing a long cave and children being herded into it.

A new Purge was beginning. Just like the last one, except for the advent of flametorches.

And they hunters had come here to watch us, all of the magical race, burn.


End file.
